Transformers for Christmas
by Botosphere
Summary: Young Annabelle Lennox, who does NOT have security clearance to know about the 'bots, celebrates Christmas with family and friends, including Aaron Hyde, RC, and Ron Hatchett. Chapter 2 just went up, with more follow!
1. Chapter 1

Author's Notes (December 2009): Ah, the indignities our favorite kick-butt alien robot warriors will suffer this holiday season! As I write this, my children are playing with their toys. My daughter has Chromia and Sweetie Belle (the white unicorn of My Little Pony fame) teaming up to defeat my son's Optimus Prime, with the pony declaring in the dulcet tones of a five-year-old, "Only a Prime can defeat _me_." My son has Demolisher and Megatron coming to Optimus' assistance, with only so-so results. Megatron keeps saying (with Skids' inflection), "You _shot_ me in the _face_!" Not sure if that was Demolisher or Optimus who shot him, but my money's on the Autobot.

Oh, and now they're playing Candyland with the 15" Leader-Class Optimus Prime and Dora the Explorer as the figurines. This should be interesting… Yes, mechs and femmes, I _live _in a crossover crackfic.

PS – I have the blade mentioned in this fic, courtesy of my fellow collaborator Kateydidnt. I am loved! :) And yes, there is an allusion to hummergrey's lauded fic, "If an Autobot, do NOT do the following." Specifically, Rule #50 (found in Chapter 11)

* * *

Christmas on Diego Garcia was nothing like what Sarah Lennox grew up with. Sure, growing up in the mountains east of Bakersfield, California, she hadn't seen many white Christmases, but at least she'd seen a few. On the military installation she'd called home for the last seven years, however, even the memory of snow had long ago melted. The island base lay in the Indian Ocean just a little south of the equator and was swelteringly humid year round.

Back when Sarah was little, family would come from across the West Coast and Mountain West to gather at Grandma and Grandpa Olsen's place – a ranch that she would one day inherit. They'd all squeeze into the old house, and the grandkids would stay up together all night listening for Santa to come. The rule was no one could leave the bedrooms until 5:30AM, at which point they'd have a cold-cereal buffet to tide everyone over. Once the kids had a good sugar buzz from Fruit Loops and Cocoa Puffs, the adults would unleash them on the living room where there would be a veritable blizzard of wrapping paper as the kids tore open their presents. Mid-morning they all gathered in grandma's dining room for brunch – muffins and eggs and bacon and flapjacks and juice and coffee and piles of fruit. Even now, decades later, Sarah's heart warmed at the memories.

Every year, Sarah ached to give her only child something as wonderful to carry in her own heart. No biological family could come visit them in Diego Garcia, of course, and they'd only once been able to take a leave of absence over the holidays. She made do with what she could, hoping it would be enough. On the rare occasions that Sarah mentioned her worry to her daughter, Annabelle just gave her a curious look and told her that she was a great mom and to not worry.

In Sarah's mind, Annabelle didn't know what she was missing; in Annabelle's six-year-old mind, she wasn't missing a thing.

For the girl, her mother's antique little snow-globe was like a window into an alien world. This year, her favorite Christmas song was "Mele Kalikimaka," partly because it was fun to say but mostly because she'd learned to hula to it in school and she danced around the house humming it for the whole month of December. There weren't any kids her age that could stay up all night with her waiting for Santa Claus, but she happily kept watch with her dad, listening for the jingle bells and the sound of reindeer hooves on the roof. In keeping with her mother's tradition, Annabelle had a cereal buffet with her parents, usually eating at least three bowls of good-for-nothing sugar cereal before she was ready to open presents. And always, before she finished breakfast, her dad's friends from the base would arrive. They drove their own cars, filling the driveway and even parking on the lawn.

Then they'd pack the house to the brim – a motley bunch of boisterous warriors, hardened veterans, and military wives – and exchange presents. Annabelle was the only child in the group, and she reaped the benefits on Christmas morning, even if the adults tended to be a bit predictable. Her dad's best friend, Aaron Hyde, always gave her the biggest and flashiest presents – things like a motorized ride-on Jeep or a Dora the Explorer TV/Blu-ray combo. Ron Hatchett, who went by the nickname Ratchet, always gave her scientific stuff – animal picture-books, a magnifying glass, and then last year, a chemistry set. River Christiansen, who always went by the nickname R.C., had a thing for clothes and shipped in pretty outfits for her from overseas. Prime gave her presents that were suited to Annabelle but, at the same time, very grown up – a set of twelve colored fairy tale books last year and a locket with a picture of her family in it the year before. She'd been on a fairy-princess kick ever since.

This year there was a new addition to the crowd, and Annabelle curiously watched him through the living room window as he walked up to the house. His name was Prowl, and he and Prime were best friends. Or at least, they talked a lot in a secretive way that seemed like a best-friends thing to her. The little girl couldn't wait to see what this stranger might have brought for her. The fact that she never doubted the newcomer had a present for her only showed just how thoroughly spoiled Annabelle was.

"I think we should make Spitlet wait," R.C. said, using their pet name for her as she scooped Annabelle up in her arms and squeezed her in a bear-hug. "She went first last year. Only makes sense that she should be last this year."

"Noooo!" Annabelle wailed, so buzzed from sleep deprivation and sugar cereal that she actually started crying, despite being the grown-up age of six and a half.

"Ouch," Sides said. "That was brutal, R.C. Way to break the kid's heart." His brother Sunny silently stalked past them both to sulk by the Christmas tree.

Hyde snatched the crying girl away from the female soldier, drying Annabelle's eyes with his rough thumb. "Don't listen to her, beautiful. You'll go first, of course. Youth before wisdom."

"That makes you second?" Ratchet said to Hyde as he passed by him into the kitchen to say hi to Sarah.

Hyde narrowed his eyes at Ratchet and, handing off Annabelle to Joel Tapp, stalked after his friend. Prowl watched curiously as Jolt (as Joel was nicknamed) quickly but carefully set her on her feet and nudged her toward the twins, Skids and Mudflap. They were the youngest of the group and always treated the girl like she was a co-conspirator in whatever hijinks they were plotting. And they were _always _plotting.

"Mele Kalikimaka," she cheerfully greeted them, plopping onto the middle cushion between them.

"Back atcha, cutie," Mudflap answered, tweaking her nose.

"So whaddya get us this year?" Skids whispered to her.

"She ain't telling," Mudflap answered, punching his brother in the shoulder. "It's bad luck."

"No it _ain't_," was Skids' brilliant comeback and he punched his brother back. "That's birthday wishes."

Coming up behind the couch, Prime laid a hand on each of the twins' shoulders. "Hello Annabelle," he greeted. "Boys, why don't you spread a little of the _holiday spirit_ and go get the presents out of my cab?"

Glowering but not daring to grumble, the twins retreated out the front door toward Prime's semi.

Annabelle looked up into the commanding officer's bright blue eyes and he winked before straightening. "What's your status in there, Hyde?" he called toward the kitchen.

"Ready when Spitlet is," he answered, dragging Ratchet into the living room in a headlock.

Prime rolled his eyes. "You'd think you two were twins. Knock it off and go help Skids and Mudflap with the presents."

Sunny snorted in derision.

Once the gifts were all brought in, Annabelle held court in front of the Christmas tree that was now buried in drifts of presents.

Prime handed her one long present and one small box. "I teamed up with 'Bee this year. Open his first." Annabelle shook the present once before opening it. Inside was a glass sphere the size of a softball that was flattened on one side. A paperweight. Suspended inside it was a rough, grey stone. "Do you want me to read the card for you?" Prime prompted.

"I can do it _myself_." Very proud of her literacy, Annabelle picked up the little note and haltingly read it out loud for everyone. "Merry Christmas, Spitlet! This is a real, actual rock from outer space. From the moon. This way, when some boy comes along when you're older and promises you the moon, you can say, '_I've already got one!' _Wishing we were there! 'Bee, Wheelie, Sam, and Mikaela."

Sarah chuckled. "Well that's thinking ahead."

"Never too young to start teaching her to be wary of the boys," Hyde rumbled approvingly.

Annabelle handed the ball off to her daddy and began with Prime's present. Will eyed the sphere in his hand curiously. "Being a moon-rock…"

"Yes," Prime answered under his breath. "It's a souvenir. We got Ratchet's repair team to set it in a clear polymer for her."

"A telescope!" Annabelle exclaimed, pulling the last of the wrapping paper away from the box.

"It includes a map of the moon," Prime added, smiling affectionately at her. "Tonight, we'll set it up and I'll show you how to work it."

"What do you say, Annabelle?" Sarah prompted.

The girl threw her arms around Prime's neck. "Thank you!"

He chuckled and gave her a gentle squeeze. "You're welcome, Spitlet."

Hyde handed her his present next – a box that was easily two and a half feet tall and deep and over three feet long. Annabelle was literally bouncing up and down in her chair with excitement. "What did you get me, Hyde?"

"You've got to open it to find out."

"Read the card first," Sarah said as Annabelle ripped open the paper on one end of the box.

"Oh." Annabelle blushed as she opened the envelope to find both a card and a key. Again she read the card aloud. "For the prettiest fairy warrior princess in the land. Dragons and goblins beware! Merry Christmas, Hyde."

The girl tore into the paper to reveal a wooden chest with a real, silver lock. Turning the key, she opened it to find a silver-and-jewel tiara sitting on top of dress-up fairy wings and a green satiny gown.

"Hyde," Sarah scolded.

"I did _not _spend too much," he cut her off with a huff.

Annabelle had already put the tiara and wings on and was pulling out the dress when she squealed in delight. Under the gown (and on top of a silvery-grey velvet cloak and yet more dresses) were a wooden bow and arrow set and a sword-belt complete with a sheathed blade.

"Good grief," Theresa Epps muttered. (This was her first Christmas with the Lennox's, but they'd known her for two years, so she didn't count as a newcomer in Annabelle's mind.) "What were you thinking, Hyde?"

"It's a letter opener," he answered. "It's too dull for her to hurt herself with it."

"Never underestimate the capacity of a femme to inflict damage," Ratchet said, "even if she _is_ only a youngling."

Annabelle pulled the blade out of the sheath, staring in wide-eyed delight at the runes running up the middle of the blade.

"Anduril?" Will guessed.

"Sting," Hyde corrected. "A hobbit's sword for my little half-pint."

"We'll have a fashion show later," Sarah told Annabelle, helping her put the green gown back in the box. "You have other presents to open."

"But I have to wear my sword, Mom!"

"Alright, fine. And what do you say?"

Annabelle threw her arms around Hyde's neck, bouncing on her toes again. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

He laughed in delight, closing his eyes as he squeezed her tightly. "My pleasure, little one."

"You have more presents to open," Sarah gently reminded her. "Why don't we do Prowl's next?"

"Yes!" Annabelle eagerly took the thick envelope from her mother.

"Use your sword on it," Hyde suggested, grinning widely.

Annabelle happily whipped it out and, with her mother's help, used it to open the package. Inside were a bright red-and-green Christmas card and some smaller, plain white envelopes. The girl's brow furrowed in confusion. Sarah, having been kindly warned in advance by Prime, read the card to Annabelle. "For the cherished child, a gift that keeps on giving. Merry Christmas, Prowl." Leaning closer to her daughter, she explained, "They're savings bonds, Annabelle. They'll be lots and lots of money when they grow up."

"Money grows up?" the girl asked, wide-eyed.

"It's called interest," Prowl said, unhelpfully.

"Yes," Sarah answered her. "But it takes a long time – as long as it takes you to grow up. It's very thoughtful of Prowl to give them to you now so that the money will be grown up when you are. Don't forget to say thank you."

Still a little baffled, Annabelle walked over to the newcomer and rested her head on his shoulder. "Thank you."

He gave Prime a terrified look and then awkwardly patted her on the head. "You're welcome."

Her duty done, Annabelle skipped over to her little throne and sat down again.

"Do mine next," R.C. eagerly suggested.

"Yeah! R.C.'s! I want R.C.'s presents!" Even though R.C. was predictable, Annabelle loved opening her gifts. The woman always gave her clothes, but it wasn't socks and t-shirts.

Will Lennox helped his wife excavate for the presents, eventually stacking five clothing boxes, four shoeboxes, and a hatbox in front of the little girl.

Annabelle tore through the wrapping paper, squealing with delight as she found a lavender swimsuit with a silk wrap-around cover-up, matching leather flip-flops with cream-and-lavender seashell accents, a Dora the Explorer pajama set with a terrycloth robe, designer jeans with a ruffled tank-top and sunglasses, Sketchers to match the jeans, a cotton sundress with matching strappy white sandals, and in the hatbox, a white sunhat with three different accent scarves. But it was the last two boxes that had Annabelle oohing and aahing. The shoebox had black patent-leather dress shoes while the clothing box had a black satin sundress with gold and rhinestone accents on the empire waist. Underneath the beautiful little gown was a gold headband set with white jewels.

"I said no jewelry," Sarah scowled at R.C. "Tell me those aren't real – "

"I did _not _spend too much," she shot back, echoing Hyde. "It's a crown for you, Spitlet. A _real _one you can wear to the New Year's Eve Party."

"You and I are going to have a little talk, missy," Sarah said to R.C.

"Open ours next," Sides eagerly said, holding out a thin package that was easily two feet tall and a foot and a half wide. "From me and Sunny."

Savaging the wrapping paper with her little sword, Annabelle uncovered a giant coloring book with a cool-looking car on the front, but the words looked all funny to her. Will Lennox choked, "Is that Italian? An_imported _coloring book?"

"Hey," Sunny said defensively, "where else are we going to find one with an exotic sports cars theme? Somebody's gotta teach her about the finer things in life."

Will choked again, this time at the thought of _Sunny_ teaching his daughter about the 'finer things.'

"And moving on," Prime diplomatically said. "Ratchet?"

Skids and Mudflap jumped to their feet and, tossing torn wrapping paper aside, eventually retrieved a largish box. "It from all three a' us," Skids said proudly.

"It wa' _my_ idea," Mudflap added.

"And _I _did all the work," Ratchet huffed.

"We hepped wit' da wheels," Mudflap answered defensively.

Skids hit his brother upside the head. "Shuddup! Ya gonna spoil da surprise."

"Open it," Ratchet encouraged, ignoring the brewing scuffle.

Tearing the paper away, Annabelle uncovered a plain, lidded box. Throwing Ratchet a grin of anticipation, she opened the lid to reveal almost a dozen toy cars. Curiously, she picked one up and realized with a start that she recognized it. It was a red and blue semi. Looking back into the box, she saw Hyde's beloved black pickup and Ratchet's ambulance and RC's motorcycle.

"Wow!" she said, dumping them all out on the coffee table.

"An' watch dis!" Mudflap said, picking up an orange car that, oddly enough, was the same size as Prime's miniature semi. He turned the car on its rear bumper with a light thump, and panels and the hood slid back to reveal a robot. "Cool, huh?"

Most of the faces in the room were looking on in shocked disbelief.

"Ratchet," Prime said eventually. "What were you thinking?"

"He wasn't," Prowl snapped back. "He was following the twins' lead."

"It's an innocent enough gift," Ratchet answered. "And I've cleared it in writing with everyone required in your rules," he added to Prowl. "Both parental units and Hyde."

Hyde reached over and picked up his truck, thumping it lightly against the table. This one had disproportionately large weapons. "Check out the cannons on this baby!"

"I don't remembering approving this," Will muttered.

Sarah smiled up at him sweetly. "You did."

Annabelle picked up the matching silver and gold Corvettes and set them on their bumpers to reveal the robots within. "Cool!"

"And to switch it back, you just lay it flat again," Ratchet showed her, tipping over the silver 'vette and changing it back into a car. "It's purely mechanical," he added, with a look at Prime. "Gravity powered. Nothing to worry about."

Sarah picked up the little blue and silver truck and turned it over in her hands a couple of times. "They look pretty fragile."

Ratchet shrugged. "If they break, bring them to me and I'll fix them." He glared once at the twins. "I do it all the time anyway."

…

Knowing that Annabelle would never sit still long enough for the adults to open their presents, Sarah had Skids and Mudflap help her carry armloads of loot up to her bedroom. About ten minutes later, Ratchet nudged Will and hissed. "Quiet, everyone! Listen!"

From up the stairs, Annabelle could be heard saying, "I am the Cannon Man! You are a very bad dragon, and I'm going to smash you, Dorito-of-Doom!"

"No!" squealed the screechy voice of an adult trying to pretend he's an action figure. "Don' hurt me!"

Another scratchy voice rumbled in falsely-deep tones. "I'm da King a' da Decepticreeps! I'll save ya, Dorito!"

"No you won't!" Annabelle confidently declared. "Here comes Motorcycle Lady. She says you are a bad dragon and a bad troll and that you are both going to jail until you say you're sorry!"

Sideswipe and Jolt doubled over in barely-suppressed laughter. Sarah was giggling and Will was silently laughing so hard tears were rolling down his cheeks.

Prowl looked utterly horrorstruck

"You tell 'em, R.C.," Epps sniggered.

The femme just smirked.


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note (December 2011): Happy Holidays, everyone! SpiritOfEowyn's husband gets credit for the plot bunny this time. :) It began as a short and sweet scene Eowyn couldn't get out of her head until she put it on paper. Then, true to our muse, it became a chapter and a half. More will follow next week, once Eowyn is done playing Santa's helper and the rest of us are back in town. In the meantime, consider this a rather quirky Christmas card from the Botosphere. :)

* * *

**One year later...**

'Twas_ the night before Christmas_, Sarah Lennox wryly thought, _and all through the house, Mom is wrapping and baking and scurrying like a mouse._

The Autobots were coming in the morning, and she was behind on the housework. At least she had a good excuse, though. There was a "Worldwide Holiday Celebration" in the mess hall, and Annabelle had begged every day that week to go see it. Sarah didn't have the heart to tell her no, even if it did mean a lost hour each time they went.

Annabelle's favorite were the Nativity sets on display in the Christian section, and Sarah enjoyed them as much for the diversity as for the meaning itself. There was the European porcelain set like the ones she'd grown up with, an African-American set with a Black Mary and baby Jesus, a crèche made of Russian dolls, a Polynesian Nativity set with Joseph in a lava-lava, a Mexican one with the shepherds wearing sombreros, a large musical snow-globe crèche, a set that was made of pure-white etched glass, one carved out of olive wood from the Holy Land, a cross-stitch hanging of the Holy Family, one Nativity scene that was painted inside of an ostrich egg, and even a Peanuts one made of "action figures" that the few children on the base could play with.

It really was a beautiful sight and she was glad to take Annabelle, but the end result was that she had only wrapped half the presents and was behind on the holiday baking. Folding laundry could wait, but there was popcorn all over the living room and she needed to vacuum. She picked up a pair of dirty socks off the floor and then noticed the pile of toys Annabelle had left under the Christmas tree. Sarah took a deep breath to holler for Annabelle to come down the stairs and clean up, but something about the way they were arranged made her pause.

On the right, the transforming Autobot cars of both sets of twins and Wheelie stood guard as shepherds around a bunch of small stuffed animals. Suspended above them by a bit of string, the yellow Camaro was hung from a faux-pine bough in his robot mode. On the left of the little tableau, Ratchet, Prowl, and Jolt were lined up bumper-to-bumper in their alt-forms like the Magi. And in the middle, Motorcycle Lady and Cannon Man stood on either side of Prime's truck held in his robot mode by a couple of pieces of tape. The toy semi was laid down on his back on a pile of ripped-up grass.

Sarah broke out in giggles at their unique Nativity set – it was just too precious and so very Annabelle. Popcorn or not, it was staying right where her daughter had set it up. She giggled even harder when she tried to imagine the 'bots reaction to it. That was a Christmas present all its own! When she finally caught her breath, she called up to Annabelle, "Did you seriously cast _The Big Guy _as Baby Jesus?"


	3. Chapter 3

Author's note: For Christmas, we gave you a fic!Christmas card. This week, we find out what happened when Ish started prodding the pantheistic side of that chapter. Thanks to Wikipedia, it resulted in Ganesh rubbing elbows with the Magi. And if you're wondering about the wording of Optimus' statement of peace, Ish found this phrase both in the Koine Greek and Vulgate Latin Bibles and figured Optimus would be as much of a translation stickler as she is.

This is, in true Middle Earth fashion, Eowyn's birthday gift to all of you, with the others' insanity mixed in. Also, special credit goes to Eowyn's daughter for inviting us to play 'Apples to Apples Kids' Edition with her and for providing the inspiration for Annabelle. (For those of you unfamiliar with the rules for the card game 'Apples to Apples', a 'judge' selects a word card and the other players have to choose a word/phrase from their hand that's the best synonym for the original word. It will be helpful to know that, eventually.) Hope you enjoy, and again, Happy Holidays!

* * *

In his holoform, Prowl stood in the middle of the silent, spacious room feeling more than a little overwhelmed. Humanity was...chaotic and bafflingly so. They were sentient, intelligent, ingenious, and occasionally profound, but they were also irrational, competitive, primitive, and frequently violent. The array of human expression that surrounded him was equally chaotic.

It was billed as a "Worldwide Holiday Display," the brain child born from some odd conspiracy of the base's chaplain, its morale officer, and (Prowl suspected) Optimus Prime himself. At various times, this room served as a mess hall, a cultural hall, and an auditorium. Right now, one wall was divided into segments, each featuring the symbols of various cultures and religions. Among others items, an unlit Jewish Menorah and collection of dreidls was set up next to a Christmas tree, several Nativity sets, and a Santa's sleigh. On the other side of that, several symbols of the Hindu celebration Pancha Ganapati were spread, including a statute of the god Ganesh, which was decked out with strings of lights and evergreen boughs. The charred remnant of last year's Yule log was also on display, along with a sprig of mistletoe and a straw Yule goat decoration.

"Observations?" Optimus' holoform asked.

Prowl tilted his head slightly, drawing on his recent research. "They center around the winter solstice," he said, beginning with the obvious. "They are iterations of the Solar Myth. Greco-Roman tradition, Celtic, Russian, Germanic, Persian, Hindi, Chinese, Japanese...It appears to be very prevalent." He paused, continuing to review his online sources. "Their own psychologists, sociologists, and theologians offer various explanations, some more sound in their reasoning than others."

The Prime nodded encouragingly. "Continue."

Prowl glanced around this odd little shrine, searching for the unifying thread - the pattern that would make order out of this alien chaos. Optimus would not have gone to the trouble of encouraging this display and hauling him up here just to make small talk. It had bothered Prowl how often his logic glitch had acted up since arriving here on Earth, and he knew Prime was aware of his frustration. This was a training exercise, an attempt to let him parse this part of human nature into pieces he could handle without crashing his CPU. _Add 'classroom' to the list of uses for this location_, he mentally noted.

"Family," Prowl concluded. "The celebration of kin-bonds is common if not universal, sometimes expressly so and sometimes simply as a practical matter. Likewise the strengthening of their bonds. Families gather together, engaging in direct communication whenever possible."

"Yes."

Prowl heard the unspoken 'go on.' He studied the displays again, searching for the binding threads. Colors, forms, symbols varied wildly, but...he glanced at the Menorah. "Light. Light - the kindling and sharing of light, decorating with it, wearing it. They celebrate the sunlight through its avatar of fire."

"Not light for light's sake alone," Prime prompted. "Light was a gift from the sun, and the sun was as the All Spark to them."

And the data fell seamlessly into place, bringing him one step closer to understanding these aliens. "Life. Light is a symbol of hope and life. They employ it in their celebrations as expression of that."

Optimus gave him an approving little smile. "Good." He gestured around the room. "But symbols have power. You who oversaw the temple guardians no doubt understand that."

Frustrated, he turned, searching the displays for what Prime was driving at. The Temple at Simfur that housed the All Spark had its own rituals and decorum, but they were centered on the straightforward goal of treating all Primus' creations with equal honor and respect. Every mech and femme was greeted with the same words, offered the same gifts, no matter their station, clan, or city-state. But this...this was the epitome of discordance. Some humans fasted while others feasted. Some received extravagant gifts and some received coal. Some had representations of the divine while others adamantly avoided any anthropomorphizing. Some were deeply religious in their celebration and some were entirely secular. Some allowed the sacred to infiltrate the secular in a covert operation.

"A new star in the east," Optimus prompted him.

Prowl gave him a blank look. He knew the allusion, of course, but it was just another iteration of the light-gift motif.

A hint of a half-smile crept over the face of Optimus' holoform. "One rising for a king, but even for the commoners, a star-sign for each."

"The Zodiac." His own alien holoform face twitched in a frown. "But that's such an irrational concept. The stars are too distant to have any kind of influence over the life of any individual human - or even over the whole of humanity."

"And yet it is said by some that 20,000 people were sacrificed by the Aztec every year to feed the sun."

Prowl winced, carefully keeping that number simply a number and not allowing his processors to really dwell on its meaning. He was annoyingly close to glitching again.

Prime waited until Prowl's holoform face smoothed and he nodded for Optimus to continue.

"Let's approach it from this direction." Looking pointedly at first the statute of Ganesh and then at the Christian Magi, Optimus said, "The gifts are offered first to the god and then shared with the whole of the community."

"Consolidating the community in the process," Prowl ventured.

"Consolidating them with what?" Optimus answered. "What motivates this near-universal impulse of theirs to celebrate with sacrifice and generosity?"

Stymied, Prowl turned his battle computer loose on the problem. Freud had reduced human instinct to reproduction and death - humans sought one and fled from the other. Neither seemed applicable here. One could ascribe greed to some aspects of these various celebrations, but it was on the periphery at best. Competition? Again, only incidentally if at all. Blood-thirst? Some of the feasts involved bloodshed, but again, most were surprisingly peaceful.

"Peace?"

Approval flashed in Optimus' alien eyes. "So very close, old friend. Peace on earth to men of good will. Harmony. Is this the essence of human nature?"

Prowl snorted despite himself. "The antithesis of it." He cocked his head to the side. "All this is one grand hypocrisy, then?"

Prime ignored that. "If it is the antithesis of human nature, then where does the concept originate? And why is it not only understood but celebrated in traditions that arose independently all across the globe?"

He skimmed his human sources, but again none of their answers truly satisfied. Instead he began running probabilities, and Prime waited patiently for three minutes until Prowl finally said, "Mental illness."

Optimus actually blinked at that one. "Mental illness?"

Prowl frowned at his own battle computer's answer. "It is outside of normal human behavior and encourages cognitive distortion. The predominant factor for such behavior is mental illness."

"So goodwill - genuine goodwill - among humans is a glitch?" Prime asked, a smile again flitting across his face.

"There is a high probability that it is the case," he stiffly answered, unable to ignore the fact that Optimus had equated his own logic glitch with human insanity.

Optimus' holoform frowned a little. "I think you misunderstand me, old friend. The analogy of a glitch might be useful." He paused for moment, choosing his words. "If Ratchet were to correct your glitch..."

"He would have to remove hardware that is crucial to my functioning."

"You would cease to be the Prowl the Autobots know and love - and respect."

"I would cease to be Prowl altogether."

"But with that glitch-causing hardware..."

Straightening his shoulders with just a hint of pride, he said, "I have the fastest, most-advanced battle computer of any functioning Cybertronian, which makes me an asset to the Autobot cause."

"And to the Autobot leader," Optimus said, losing the fight against his grin. "But why is that?"

"The two go servo-in-servo. The data bypasses most emotional processing and is routed directly through my logic centers." He purposely omitted that the fact that his emotional processing was impaired due to the scars his spark received when his entire clan was extinguished in a day. "Under most conditions this speeds up the information relay. However, sometimes...things...just don't compute."

"But when they do, you have abilities beyond that of everyone else. You can predict the future with uncanny accuracy."

"I'm not a seer," Prowl uneasily corrected, "not like Jazz apparently was."

"No, but like him, you see patterns. You conceptualize things that the rest of us can't even begin to understand."

Not that Prowl would complain about the compliment, but he pointedly glanced at the displays.

Optimus caught the look and smiled again. "You conceptualize. Humans imagine."

Prowl baulked a little at the words. There was no comparison between his 'imaginings' and those of the humans! His was the result of meticulous analysis and computation. Theirs...were incomprehensible. He quickly pulled his processing away from that problem. That's _why _he kept glitching - because he _couldn't _imagine!

Again, Prime waited for him to work himself away from triggering the glitch, and eventually Prowl nodded at his commander to continue.

"They imagine. They believe. It is all tangled up together in their souls." His voice dropped to a murmur. "I've seen it, Prowl. I've seen it through Sam's eyes - their nightmares, their dreams."

In the year that he'd been on Earth, Prowl had never heard Optimus speak about what passed between him and his bond-brother. He leaned a little closer, intrigued and listening closely.

"They are not as dissimilar as we might think. They have to begin with some empirical input. Everything they imagine is 'like' something else they've seen or heard or felt. But they extrapolate that data, segment and splice it, project it...much like you do."

Prowl shook his head, still not able to grasp it, but he consoled himself that Prime was probably the only 'bot who did, and only then because he cheated by sharing a bond with a human.

"They don't speak about probabilities, Prowl. They speak about beliefs. Their random, organic processors absorb everything around them and their subconscious analyzes it and spits it out as a gut instinct or a hunch or a belief. They _believe _and that is hard-coded into them as much as simple calculations are hard-coded into us."

Still a little annoyed, Prowl answered, "And yet we don't believe that we must kill our fellow mechs and femmes to feed the All Spark."

Optimus frowned and again chose his words carefully. "You are correct that, of our race, the results of your processing are not the most similar to humans. In many ways they're more like Wheeljack."

"Merciful Primus," Prowl sarcastically muttered.

Ignoring that, Prime said, "They are more random in their processing, and while that occasionally results in errors, it also allows them to see possibilities we don't."

"So like Wheeljack, whatever isn't processor-bogglingly brilliant blows up in their faces?"

Optimus tilted his head, acknowledging Prowl's point. "The brilliance is in the variation. Right or wrong, their processing ebbs and flows as freely as quicksilver. They all know that without the sun they will die. They all are aware that the nights are growing longer, the days are dawning colder. As they understand it, the sun is growing weaker, and unless it recovers its strength..."

"It will die."

"Yes. But these are humans. They do not despair - empirically they know the nights are growing longer but they also know the sun has regained its strength before. So they do what they can to encourage it."

"Encourage it," Prowl flatly echoed.

Again that half-smile played across the face of Optimus' holoform. "Yes, it is arrogant and irrational, but that is also part of humanity. Every human culture at one point believed the heavens themselves were concerned with human affairs, whether it be the Zodiac or feeding the sun or the rising of a new star or a comet being a portent. They believed the influence went both ways, and so they pray and worship."

"But we have personally travelled those stars, Optimus," Prowl protested, wondering if that insane human on the other end of Optimus' brother bond was starting to make his leader a little crazy, too. The thought was an unpleasant one.

"True. But it is also true that the sun survived every winter."

"There is no evidence it wouldn't."

"No?"

The question hung in the air, and Prowl realized it almost didn't. Two times The Fallen had laid claim to the humans' sun, and two times, the clan of the Primes had thwarted him.

Prime continued, "Whether their sun was ever in danger or not, the point is they _believe._They believe, sometimes because experience has born out the belief and sometimes in proud defiance of evidence to the contrary. Their capacity and inclination to believe – in something greater than themselves, in perfection, in perfection made flesh – is something universal to human nature. It strengthens them on both the individual and communal level. It motivates them to improve themselves and their relationships with others."

"Peace on earth?" Prowl challenged, full of doubt.

"Are you saying it is _not _possible?"

Prowl frowned, considering. "It is highly unlikely."

"But not impossible."

"No," Prowl finally conceded, and again the data slipped into place. "That is why my calculations are useless, isn't it, because they themselves are the walking exception to logic. They operate on random data streams. They are capable of anything."

Optimus chuckled. "But even in the most chaotic systems..."

"...there are patterns." Prowl nodded, finally beginning to understand the themes in the displays before him as he re-ran his calculations. "And _some _kind of extrapolation can be made from those patterns, even though they are far less accurate."

"Yes. But you have the best battle computer in existence. I am confident you are up to the task."

Prowl vented a sigh and then gave Optimus a calculating look. "So in summation, every human is capable of the arrogance of Sunstreaker, the wild creativity of Wheeljack, and the violence of Megatron."

"And the wisdom of Alpha Trion, the loyalty of Bumblebee and the compassion of Jazz."

"I believe the appropriate human term here is 'schizophrenic.' Do we truly want share a planet with this species?"

Optimus chuckled and clapped Prowl's holoform on the shoulder. "I am bound to them, old friend."

**...**

Sarah Lennox was used to unconventional etiquette where the Autobots were concerned. Ironhide had cautiously approached her husband to ask how humans showed appreciation. Will, after several years of being the one to co-sign thank-you cards, had pointed him to e-cards, but the Autobots were never ones to do things by halves. The following Christmas, she had received several polite thank-you cards, but had also been deluged by gift baskets that were meant as belated hostess gifts by 'bots who had just discovered the form and function of . The humans in NEST tended to use more conventional mail but got into the spirit of breaking the mold.

A few years into the friendship, they had all found middle ground when it came to holiday procedure. She sent e-vites an appropriate amount of time in advance and learned not to be offended when orders interfered with New Year's Eve.

She also learned to expect _anything_ and _everything_by way of RSVP's. Bumblebee sent her an mp3 of "I'll be home for Christmas" to explain that he, Sam and Mikaela would be spending the holidays on the mainland. Optimus accepted her invitation in a way that was meant to be warm and familiar, but still sounded like an address to the United Nations Security Council.

The text from Prowl was even less familiar: "I will most certainly attend your heliocentric celebration of community consolidation."

Everyone else managed to vote 'yea' or 'nay' in their own way, whether clicking "Yes" on the e-vite or passing the word through the NEST channels of communication. One of the human jokers (Quinn) turned up on her front lawn with flags and an extensive knowledge of semaphore signals. She never did figure out exactly what he said, but he showed up the day of, so she assumed it was a 'yes.'

The day before Christmas, a nervous-looking second lieutenant turned up on her front doorstep with the base exchange's equivalent of a florist box.

"Sign here, please," he said.

"The Army has FedEx?" she asked.

"The Army has underpaid guys in the quartermaster's division," he corrected. "It's my pleasure to save you a trip."

"Thanks," Sarah said, examining the box with a certain amount of apprehension. "Have a sugar cookie."

A few minutes, two cookies and a mug of eggnog later, the jolly postlieutenant left her alone and she finally located the card. It had no name, but someone-probably the lieutenant himself-had written "Nollaig Shona Dhaoibh" in large, blocky handwriting.

A quick Google of the phrase explained that someone had assumed that the Lennoxes spoke their Irish ancestors' language. That also explained why someone had tracked down several sprigs of holly arranged to look like a nosegay.

"So," she asked Will that evening, "who do you think is the culprit? Optimus? Arcee?"

He stared at the card for a long moment, mouth moving, and he nodded decisively. "Twins."

"Sunny and..."

"The other twins," he corrected firmly. "They're closet linguists and get a little slaphappy with whatever they find on Google."

For reasons she couldn't quite identify, she shuddered. "The pervert twins...bought me flowers?"

"The pervert twins bought you flowers," Will chuckled. "Can I kick their afts for hitting on my girlfriend?"

"Be my guest."

Christmas day, Arcee arrived a few hours before the appointed time. The femme spent most of the time being Sarah's errand bot, helping in the kitchen or carrying things to the table, but she took a little too much pleasure in playing bodyguard. On her watch, no one came anywhere near the stove without surviving Arcee's interrogation and getting down on their knees.

Guard duty was Arcee's stated purpose, but that didn't happen until the rest of the gang started storming the fortress. The real reason that she came so early was that she had nearly as much fun with the things she got Annabelle as Annabelle herself.

This year, 'Bee had put together a playlist worthy of a radio station and had one of his on-site friends load it onto a bright pink mp3 player that fit perfectly into the pocket of the pink denim jacket that matched her favorite first-day-of-school dress. Arcee was a veteran of a war, a strong-willed warrior who struck terror into the hearts of just about everyone including her allies. Watching her twirl to "Chirpy, Chirpy, Cheep, Cheep" from the Diego, Dora and Friends album tempted Sarah to record the whole thing for posterity and/or blackmail.

The twins turned up next with another innocuous – and therefore ominous-looking – flower box.  
"'Sup, Spitfire, Spitlet," Mudflap drawled.

"Yo-yiggity-yo, my homies, y'awl be lookin' fiiiiiiiiiiiiine," Skids agreed.

"Stay away from the kitchen," Arcee growled.

"Naw," Mudflap said. "Where da shrub?"

"Your thoughtful gift is on the mantelpiece," Sarah said politely. "Will!"

Will scuttled into the living room, ready but not very willing to play babysitter to the twins. "'Sup, guys?"

"Ma maaaaaaaaaaan," Skids crowed. "Where can we put this up?"

They disappeared into the living room just as Mudflap uttered the first terror-inducing words of the day: "Where y'awl keep da hammers?"

In the spirit of carpool, half the humans arrived en masse with Ironhide and the others piled out of Optimus' cab. Sarah kept one ear open for any trouble in the living room and surprisingly, nothing raised her suspicions until she heard a loud, slightly flummoxed, "Whooooooooooooooa, NO!" and a round of awkward laughter.

She immediately slid past Arcee, wiping her hands on her apron in case she had to grab someone by the scruff of their neck. Ratchet was still standing frozen in the doorway, looking mildly shell-shocked.

"Are you behaving yourselves?" she asked with curiosity and a hint of maternal sternness in her voice.

"You might not wanna stand there," Epps cackled.

She glanced up and stepped quickly away. Of course the pervert twins had brought mistletoe.

"Come here, love," Ratchet cooed, holding his arms out dramatically. "I promise I'll keep my tools to myself."

She played along, pecking him quickly on the cheek and getting a mild tingle in return from the holoform. Amid the laughter, she asked, "Who was his previous target?"

"Epps," the rest chorused.

They were saved by the bell, a little literally, as someone else arrived on the doorstep. She opened the door to find Prowl and the more...sensible twins lurking on her welcome mat.

"Feliz Navidad," Sunny said.

"Merry X-mas," Sides added.

They scooted past her to greet the rest of the crowd. Prowl bowed his head formally and said in a rush, "My felicitations on this recurrent and most frivolous commemoration of the unconquered sun and temporary human unity."

"Merry Christmas to you, too," she replied a heartbeat later, once she'd kind of deciphered his meaning. With a still-puzzled smile, she added, "Have a sugar cookie."

"So," Sunny said as she closed the door, "what'd we miss?"

"Ratchet, Epps, mistletoe," Will called.

"Damn!" Sides protested.

"And didn't no one get nothin' on video," Skids said, sounding both gloating and disappointed.

"Language," Sarah interjected over her shoulder as she returned to the kitchen. "Spitlet still likes to repeat everything her grownup friends say."

She sent Arcee out to the living room to run interference with gingerbread men and Christmas-tree-shaped sugar cookies, adding, "Find Annabelle, will you?"

"Last I knew, she was playing 'Apples to Apples Kids' with Optimus, Epps and Mudflap," Arcee reported quietly. "And she was winning."

"Tell Epps that if he doesn't keep Mudflap in line, he's doing the dishes," Sarah commanded with all the authority of Morshower. "And see if anyone wants cocoa."

When the kitchen door swung open again, she expected Arcee with drink orders, but instead, Ironhide lumbered in.

"Sarah," he said with the same kind of strained formality that she associated with Prowl, "may I have a word?"

He hadn't batted a holographic eyelash at the mistletoe incidents but was looking as though a court martial was in order. She closed the door quickly and lowered her voice. "What is it?"

She met his eyes to find that he was actually looking amused. "I would hate for Annabelle's personal belongings to be damaged. Would you like me to remove the array of toys from underneath the tree?"

Her face broke into a grin, knowing he meant Annabelle's improvised crèche. "Who tipped you off?"

"Prowl. He was tapping his fingernails so hard he was practically tearing up the arm rest on the couch."

"And you bullied it out of him?"

He nodded, eyes sparkling and not looking the least bit ashamed.

"It's our Nativity scene and it stays put, and you get to take care of anyone who damages her toys," she announced. "Has anyone else noticed?"

From the living room, she heard Skids howl, "Aw, hell, no!"

"Yes," Ironhide said solemnly. "I think that Skids has noticed."

"You're ready to take still shots, right? 'Cause I have a feeling I'm going to want enlargements."

"Always ready for action," he amiable growled, falling in behind her as they went to the living room.

"How come _he _get ta be da angel?" Mudflap protested, gesturing grumpily at the tree.

The data packet was transmitted from 'bot to 'bot, and Sarah watched in amusement as holoforms' eyes widened. Prowl was still distractedly finger-tapping the arm rest, almost glaring at the little Nativity set, but Jolt broke out in sniggers.

"Oh sure, laugh!" Sideswipe snarled. "_We_ get stuck watching slagging sheep with the reject twins and _Wheelie_!"

"Dunno," Jolt wheezed, "I'm in a Ratchet-and-Prowl Magi sandwich!"

Ratchet whacked Jolt up the head while Skids wailed, "Duuude! Ya jes broke ma brain!"

"Watch it," Sarah warned, eyes darting to where Epps, Annabelle and a now-very-distracted Optimus were sitting at the card table.

One of Arcee's eyes twitched. "Virgin...Mary...?"

Ironhide proudly crossed his arms over his massive chest. "And don't forget Bodyguard Joseph."

With another round of laughter, all eyes - human and holoform - turned expectantly to Optimus.

He blinked.

He opened his mouth and then abruptly shut it.

His gaze grew distant, researching online.

He blinked again.

He looked around the room at the grins, smirks, sparkling eyes, and (in Prowl's case) stricken expressions.

Completely oblivious, Annabelle came to his rescue, whining, "Come on, Prime, play your card! What's a word like 'spooky'?"

He gratefully turned her way and placed his card on the table, ignoring the chuckles and murmurs as everyone else turned their attention back to the toys under the tree. Annabelle gathered the cards from Epps, Mudflap, and Optimus and thoughtfully examined them. "Hmm…I like 'Spiders,'" she mused, flipping that one face down on the table to discard it. Mudflap groaned in disappointment that she didn't pick his card. "There's nothing spooky about '_Christmas_!' That's silly! So I guess 'The Basement' the winner!"

"That's mine!" Epps collected the winning 'Spooky' card to add to his tally and then gave Prime a mischievous little grin. "Ya sure you don't want this one, Optimus?"

Without hesitation, he answered, "Yes."


End file.
